


Cursed Poems From The Mind Of A Sad Person

by Bishythefishy



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Dark, Darkness, Death, Monsters, Poetry, Slam Poetry, thoughts, toxic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23408320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bishythefishy/pseuds/Bishythefishy
Summary: This book is a poetry book full of poems about that darkness within. The sadness, hatred and more that plagues our minds every day. This book is for me and you, for all of us. The people who don't know how to explain their demons. They just know they are here and aren't going anywhere. So now we sit and write about them as we try to continue to live the somewhat sane lives we have created for ourselves.





	1. Monsters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The One's Who Are Trapped In Their Own Heads](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+One%27s+Who+Are+Trapped+In+Their+Own+Heads).



> These poems are all originals and are made to bring people together as well as make connections with people. Nothing that's written or inferred is meant to make fun of or hate on anyone. Everyone has their own demons and I just like to write about them. I hope you enjoy. Thank you!

When did our happiness have limitations based solely upon the quality of our thoughts? When did we stop smiling and begin to hide behind a mask? Popping small blue pills like candies for fun. Making friends with a blade once again, letting it use our bodies as canvases. The blade is fine, pleasing and deep. We idolize being dead, daydreaming as we paint. Sitting still as we watch the blood seep from our veins. We crave the silent, splendid satisfaction of nothingness. We crave the pleasure, pleased peacefulness of our demons in our tangled minds. Wrapping around each other like a pretty bow. Tying off the last bit of sanity we have left in this world. Because we could not cause depression, but it did kindly cause us.


	2. The Art Of Growing Up To Fast

The bitter, chilling midnight air whisper it's ghostly and bitter words into my ears. Telling me that I'd never find my way home. This is how I knew the time I had left wasn't much. My childhood running away from me as I sat and watched it go without a second thought. The wind now singing a beautiful hum I dreamed of how the sun used to shine. How the sunlight lighted the way for my little feet guiding me to adulthood. But I am a child being guided to young. The sunlight burning my tiny feet. The wind screaming in my ear you must go back. But I'm fighting back, I fought and conquered the wind. The sunlight no longer burns. Yet there's an ache in my chest. A soft buzzing in my head, a copper taste fills my mouth. My mind trailing off, coming back only when the pain appears. Is the pain in my stomach hunger or is the pain in my stomach finally the realization of how lost I am. It's not clear anymore. The wind continues to talk to me but now I can't make out the words. Everything's blurring together as I throw things into a bowl, stirring and calling it my life. I'm too young acting too old. Wearing less is wearing more, walking around smelling like sweet berries in the summertime. I want to go back in time, where wearing less clothes was too inappropriate for my age. Where the tightest piece of clothing I owned was my blanket wrapped around me at night. I want to go back in time where the wind blew my hair and didn't speak, where the sunlight lit up my face. I want to be a child again, to let my tiny feet grow. To be the sunshine to peoples day's, and experience the runaway childhood that I watch pass me by. I don't want to be familiar with the burning of the sunlight on the bottoms of my small feet or familiar with the pain in my stomach. I want to grow up in years not minutes. I want to go back to watching the adults drinking their wine and laughing at their idiocy. To pulling my legs close to my chest so the monsters under my bed wouldn't grab me. When did I let this change, from throwing paper planes, and playing with toys, to this? And when did I grow, from snow angels in the whitest of snows to being the angel of darkness. And when did I get taller, but my dreams become smaller. And now the times passed by, the damage is done. All there is now is the future. So I'll let the sunlight and wind try to win the fight, and I'll continue to grow up too fast.


	3. Even In Death I Want Remembrance

I wonder who will care when I am not here anymore.  
When the gods finally decide my time is over.  
Will people be sad and cry at the sound of my name?  
As I would for many others.  
Or will life for the people closest to me shine brighter?  
Was I just a waste of precious space,  
that was needed for someone better.   
Was my time here just a ticking time bomb waiting to go off?  
I sit and wonder If my life was used wisely.   
If the friends I had were worth it, was I truly happy?   
But does it really matter?  
For when I am gone,  
nothing I've thought,  
done or even spoken,  
will be remembered.   
Not by me nor you.  
Life as I know it will simply be done.  
Yet I don't think I can handle that.   
Everything I've done will be forgotten.  
All of my hard work thrown away like yesterday's trash.   
Just as we,  
I live my life without a second thought of death.  
But I want to be remembered,  
to have a legacy.  
To have a part of me live on forever.  
So that when I do die,  
the parts of me that the people who do care will remember.  
Will last forever.


	4. A Thriving Flower?

A good friend once said  
"A flower can't thrive where it wasn't intended to."  
At a time in my life where everything was bad. I saw this in a different way, that you might.  
This is what I said  
"I'm a flower with thorns. I poke and prod until someone finally notices then I break down. Then as I grow my thorns stronger I lose a little piece of feeling. I make myself to strong nobody will be able to pick me. If I never get picked I'll forever be the thorn rose nobody can touch."  
I hide my feelings  
act like I'm okay.  
I smile, laugh.  
While inside I question everything.  
If I was not intended to grow and thrive here then why do I stay?  
People I'm around don't help,  
I still question.  
I'm still scared.


	5. Viridity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written by Gaby, you can find her on Wattpad at makingbadchoices. We've written many poems together so you can find those on Wattpad or thrown around on here.

As I laid there,  
empty and silent.  
No merciful death insight.  
I reeled upon those memories,  
remembering the darkness.  
The raven black blanket that shielded the warm glowing sun.  
I feared your creature form.  
As a shadow crawled upon my withering body.  
I gazed out a dirty stained window,  
a dying garden plaguing my view.  
Once a bright blue day turned foul and horrendous.  
For no birds sang,  
and the moon was tucked away.  
Every creak and groan of wood petrified my soul.  
Only endless black night,  
a pool of inky black.  
You played with me as though I were a game.  
Gazing at opal eyes,  
your touch corrupted my heart.  
My existence now tainted,  
in an everlasting longing for someone to save me.  
The most treacherous part of all was knowing that no one would avenge me.  
No winged angel would swing from the shining heavens and save my damned soul.  
\- condemned to an eternal hell, only to be wretched by the devil himself.


End file.
